His tale is over, borrowed

from his own father who sought a difference

to the world of industrial dirt

and the stench of flippant war

across Europe; the boy swam the great lake

beside his home in Hamilton, played

Ice Hockey and dreamed of fields, woods

and forests that would survive

all that he would leave behind

as he boarded the ship in Montreal

that would lead him back to another war,

one he would see erupt in yellow golden flame and damaging red

as Coventry burned,

that would lead him to the trams and playing

for the army at St. Andrews, where one day

on a cold February morning he would take another young boy

to see how the days ahead would stretch out.

The story of the Adanac House is now over,

in part when the breathing stopped

as his giant heart finally gave way

as St. David yawned and took

hold of daffodils,

later still when the house was sold

and that wooden sign, splendidly adorned

with tight screws

onto the wall, the legend of Adanac House,

Selly Park, was removed by new homeowners,

a legacy of bricks and mortar, of tales

at a Grandfather’s feet now resting in a generation

that cannot comprehend what Adanac truly was.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016